


Lonely Room

by supercantaloupe



Category: Oklahoma! - Rodgers/Hammerstein
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, vague and forboding sense of dread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercantaloupe/pseuds/supercantaloupe
Summary: They had assumed the worst passed.It's time we clean that old shack out, they said. How bad could it be?How wrong they were.





	Lonely Room

They had assumed the worst passed. That their terrible storm had broken and soon the skies would clear, perhaps even a rainbow would greet them from the east once the field floods drained and the scrap picked up off the ground. That it would be a tough road to walk from here, but that the biggest hurdle had been jumped, the river forded. The danger gone.

_ Don’t let your mind run on it, _ they had been told.

They had assumed. 

_ Can’t forget it, I tell you. Never will, _ they had said.

* * *

Of course, no one had  _ wanted _ to go back in that old shack after what had happened. No, they wanted to forget, to pretend. But it couldn’t sit empty out in the yard forever, squatting like an eyesore, an ugly reminder. No, they  _ had _ to go back in, to sweep out the old, usher in the new.

_ We oughta clean it out by now, _ they told themselves.

The floor creaked, the door squeaked. It didn’t look  _ real _ inside that old shack, when the sunlight streamed in. It was like wading through a haze, stepping into a daguerreotype, falling through the looking glass. Light was foreign here, had not caressed the rough wood and dust in an eternity of weeks. Everything was too harshly grey and gold and brown, with a moldy and stale complexion. 

_ It’s just gonna be an ugly old blot in the yard otherwise. Let’s put it to good use. _

The bed was unmade, roughly dressed in thin sheets now stiff and spoiled by stillness and rodent droppings. One chair at the table pushed out, at an oblique angle, the other overturned, resting on the floor as if after a violent fall. The chest of drawers slightly askew, no longer pressed flush to the wall. It was mostly empty, save for the scattered bits of straw and lint, traces of vermin, a ratty old forgotten shirt or two here and there. 

_ Ain’t nothing in there no more. Should be easy. Should be quick. _

Some papers were still tacked on the wall, papers which made them grimace and retreat. Even they had a rotten aspect to them, repulsive as much as their content. There were a few strewn about the floor at their feet, and they bent down to collect them as garbage but thought twice and caught themselves.

_ He’s been gone a long time already, _ they reminded themselves.  _ Ain’t nothing to fear. _

The whole room had an unpleasant, musty smell. Dust. Rust. Straw. Dirt. Mildew. Rot. Sulfur. Smoke. Metal. Musk.

_ It’s just a lonely room. _

There were scrapes on the floor, like where boots scuffled in skirmish, or like from the claws of a caged, pacing animal. And a hook, up high on the wall, with a thick, coarse rope hanging. Knotted and dangling, calm and cold and uncaring. In the corner a broom lay on the floor, its handle chipped and nibbled in neglect. The light from the door and the high little window made everything seem to glow, sordid and unnatural and fantastic. Chills ran up their spines, rattled them to their bones. 

_ It’s just a lonely room. _

* * *

_ _

Two days later, they burned the shed and everything in it. Perhaps they could have, should have salvaged what was left inside, but they decided against it. It was easier this way. The past can’t stick around so easily without an anchor to cling to, they figured. They already knew you can’t scrub red stains from white silk so easily.

  
_   
_

_ If you can’t forget it, just don’t try to, _ they had been told. Did they listen?

They sat on the porch and watched the flames grow higher, then fall back as they slowly ate away at the old wooden frame until it collapsed. They kept a close eye on it, lest the fire jump and threaten to spread out into the fields.

_ That’s the way it is, cradle to grave. _

They were silent. 

_ I don’t see why this had to happen, _ they had thought.

They had assumed the worst had passed. 

How wrong they were.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! My keyboard broke and it took me several days to get a new one and I couldn't write!! anything!! until now!! But I finally got a new (old, actually) one and needed to write something quick out. Given the season...time to write something (kinda) spooky! 
> 
> As usual, yeehaw and thank you for reading!


End file.
